Page 52

Which proved true until close to midnight when a sudden wave of fatigue came over her followed by a cold wash of nausea which sent her stumbling out of the ballroom onto the terrace, where she retched into the bushes. When the paroxysm passed, she staggered to a stone seat and sat down, shivering in the cool night air and wiped her sweaty brow.

When she felt sufficiently recovered, she made her way back into the ballroom and found a glass of water and went back outside to wash out her mouth and sip the water. She was still sitting on the stone bench feeling a bit wobbly when Rick came to find her.

Taking one look at her face in the light from the lamps on the terrace, he said in alarm, “What is wrong?”

“I don’t know. I just came over ill. I am feeling better now.”

He touched her forehead lightly and cupped her face. “I thought you were recovered from the concussion.”

“I don’t think it’s that. I have done a lot today. I just feel a bit tired.” She swallowed as something suddenly occurred to her with blinding obviousness. “Um. It hadn’t occurred to me, but—”

“What?” he asked, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

“Well, I’ve just realized my courses are late. In fact, I haven’t had them since we arrived here . . .” Her voice trailed off as the implications sank in.

Rick’s hand froze and dropped from her cheek as he said in an odd voice, “You’re pregnant?”

“Perhaps?” she said in a small voice, watching his frozen expression. He blinked and rose from the seat and paced to the balustrade and leaned on it, his back to her and a cold feeling stole into the pit of her stomach.

“Rick?”

His shoulders heaved as if he had taken a deep breath, and he straightened and turned back to her, but she could see he looked pale and slightly glassy eyed. He stepped toward her and took her hands. “Well, I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised, the way we have been indulging in bed sport.” He smiled, but she felt it was forced. He was clearly shocked. She was shocked herself, so she shouldn’t be surprised that he was, too. But her heart ached a bit that he didn’t seem pleased.

He dropped to one knee and kissed her hands. “We will have to take good care of you now. No more accidents.” He said it lightly.

She tried to smile but she couldn’t shake the cold feeling in her stomach. “Are you pleased?” she ventured, wanting reassurance.

His hesitation was small, but she felt it like a stab to the ribs. “Y-yes. Of course I am.” He paused, licking his lips nervously, and said, “I confess I’m a little daunted. I never thought I’d—Well, I never thought I’d be married, let alone a father—” He stopped. “I’ll get used to it.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead, and she closed her eyes on a sudden flash of tears.

He went on, “Do you want to retire? I can let everyone know you’re not well.”

She opened her mouth to say no, and another wash of fatigue came over her, and she ended up saying, “Yes, I think so. I’m very tired.”

He nodded. “Very well. I’ll see to our guests; you slip away quietly.” He kissed her lips softly, and she slipped into the ballroom and made her way to the entrance and upstairs to her room where she rang for Mary, who helped her undress and put her to bed. Sinking into the pillows, she closed her eyes, her heart still aching for Rick’s less than enthusiastic response to her news, but fatigue taking her under before she could dwell on it anymore.

***

Rick announced that Cecelia was unwell and had retired to bed, which of course broke up the party. The last to leave were the Littlejohns who were full of solicitude for Cecey’s quick recovery and offers of anything they could do to help.

Having got rid their guests, Rick retired to the library to give himself time to absorb the life-changing news Cecey had delivered earlier. He had imbibed a few champagnes during the evening, and he reached for the whisky bottle now in an attempt to calm the panic trying to run riot in his system. Logically, this news should come as no surprise. It wasn’t as if they had taken any precautions to prevent such an eventuality, but for some reason he hadn’t considered it. Perhaps he had been delusional, refusing to face an inevitability that he discovered he was ill-prepared for.

He poured himself a generous tot of whisky and downed it in a couple of swallows.

His eldest brother Robert was a doting father and would no doubt tell him that it was a state to look forward to and be grateful for. But Rob was, and always had been, “the responsible one” in the family. He had shouldered much of the responsibilities of the dukedom in their father’s lifetime. From early in his teens in fact, Rob had begun taking over the care of the family and the estate, which their endearing but feckless papa was happy to surrender into his young hands. Rick on the other hand, had shuddered at the prospect of so much responsibility and ducked as much of it as he could. Until Cecelia and the machinations of Mrs. Dove Lyon forced him into matrimony.

Pacing the room with his topped-up glass, sipping absently, he reflected on the past few weeks since his marriage. Not that any of it had proven to be so bad. In fact, he was settling into the role of country squire with growing ease and the role of doting husband of late with a surprising knack. He had grown accustomed to sleeping with his wife. From the first, he had enjoyed their bed sport, and since her accident he come to recognize that she meant far more to him than he would have credited was possible. But the daunting prospect of fatherhood threw him into a state of almost catatonic panic. His head spun a bit as the whisky began to bite.

The panic, he recognized rationally, was ridiculous, weak, and entirely selfish. Was he so much his father’s son? Yet Papa had adored his children and given them as much of himself as he was capable of. But that was the point, wasn’t it? Rick knew as well as Robert did that Papa was a weak man who never did shoulder his own burdens properly. He let them slide onto Robert’s broad shoulders far earlier than he should have. And Rick was mortally afraid he would do the same. That was the source of this panic, this aching sense of inadequacy that ate at his gut and made him want to run. Like he had run from Cecelia that night at Lady Pennington’s ball. With a groan, he lowered his head into his hands. He felt sick.

And he needed to go upstairs and hide how he was feeling from her, because she didn’t deserve his cowardice. She deserved his support and his care. He blinked, his vision swimming as his head spun. He was weak. He knew it.

A sudden strong desire for his middle brother seized him. Ward would know what to say to him to snap him out of this funk. He had already sent a note to him to say he was going to visit London and see their bankers. He would leave now rather than wait any longer. A couple of days to talk to Ward and get his head straight. That was all he would need. And then he could come back and be a proper support to Cecey.

The thought calmed the panic that had been rising in his chest and threatening to choke him, and he went to his desk and penned a note to Cecey explaining that he’d decided to leave early for the planned trip to London, that he would be back very soon, and to take care of herself. He signed it after a hesitation, Love Rick. He folded it and left the library.

In the hall, Hendrix was about to snuff out the candles in the wall sconces and said, “You’re retiring for the night, my lord?”

“Actually, I’m going to London. I’ll be away a few days.”